


Hush Puppy

by fredesrojo



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, News Night Animal Rescue (TM), Post S2, newsroom: now with 100 percent more small adorable animals, probably Jim/Maggie if you squint a bit, seriously where did this even come from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredesrojo/pseuds/fredesrojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One man's trash is another girl's newest canine friend. </p>
<p>Alternately: Maggie Jordan, Animal Whisperer</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush Puppy

**Author's Note:**

> developed from the seed of a thought of Maggie and the newsbbs trying to hide a [puppy](http://24.media.tumblr.com/cdf1dc6a2a755a3e12115b77021381a1/tumblr_n4exfwr8Ye1sfi0xko1_500.jpg) from Will in the newsroom and failing, which exploded into...well, this.
> 
> As always thanks to Emily ([simplyprologue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue)) for dealing with me and poking me to finish writing this.
> 
> Rejected titles include:  
> News Anchors Are Puppies, Too  
> AnchorPup

(Maggie wants to start this whole thing out by saying that she hadn’t _intended_ on bringing the poor thing into the newsroom, but it _was_ freezing outside and the weather was trying to decide between sleet and rain. 

Ok, so she’s sort of a sucker for the whole _puppy_ thing, too.) 

But she’s kind of getting ahead of herself. 

It all starts when she hears the low whimper coming from the collapsed box leaning forlornly in the corner of the subway platform. 

Maggie glances around--it’s barely gone six in the morning--and she’s entirely alone but for the whimpering box and a lone guy waiting on the opposite platform. 

(What the hell is she supposed to do, leave it?) 

She moves the box and just about keels over at the cute overload, but also _Jesus Christ_ , it’s a puppy, in a box, in a subway station, in the middle of winter. 

“Aww, little guy,” Maggie croons, crouching over to get a better look at the shivering little thing--all floppy ears and ungainly limbs and soulful little eyes--curled up at the bottom of the box. It’s barely longer than her forearm and looks a little underfed, if she had to guess by the way its ribs are showing. There’s no tags or identifying markers on the poor thing--the box doesn’t yield any clues either. 

“Hm. Somebody must have left you here, buddy,” She comments, glancing around the platform again--but it’s not really like her station is that populous this early in the morning. The dog whines, a squeaking sound eking low out of his throat, nudging his head up under her hand. 

It takes approximately ten seconds before she caves. “Oh, alright then. C’mere.” 

He (or at least she thinks its a he, and she also should think up a name for the poor thing) huffs a little sigh as soon as Maggie gets him cradled under her jacket, shivers easing. 

It’s a pretty clean dog all told, just a little bedraggled and thin-- _maybe someone’s dog had puppies and they ditched it?--_ but a solid golden furred weight resting contently in her arms. 

She can’t take him back to the apartment. Lisa would freak, and there’s no way to guarantee the poor guy is even house trained. 

Maggie chews her lip, squinting down at the puppy. “Well, I guess you’re coming with me.” 

The subway ride towards Times Square doesn’t seem to phase the little guy but he squeaks and burrows further under her coat as soon as she steps out above ground to walk the block over to the AWM building. 

( _Crap_. How is she even going to get him in the building?) 

One quick stop in the alcove between a coffee shop and an Italian restaurant later, and Maggie walks past security with her arms piled high with her notepad and binders and her messenger bag slung across her chest. 

She chances a glance downwards in the elevator--he’s sound asleep, nose nuzzled into the canvas just below the zipper of her bag. 

The newsroom is deserted but for the lone overnight intern listed over at the alert desk--it _is_ only seven in the morning, or so--and Maggie makes it to her desk without incident. 

(Which, shit, her desk is _right_ in front of Will’s office, how the fuck is she supposed to pull this off? 

There’s only one thing to do.) 

MacKenzie is pretty much the only other person that’s ever in this early--it’s partly a holdover from battling Dantana’s lawsuit, when Mac had thrown herself headfirst into making _News Night_ as solid a show as ever in spite of the shitstorm Dantana was trying to throw on them, and partly just because Mac seems to enjoy coming in early. 

Will, on the other hand, has always been a terrible morning person, and never seems to drag himself out of bed any earlier than ten. 

(Married life hasn’t seemed to have changed much for Will and Mac routine-wise, really. 

Although there have been a few mornings recently when Mac and Will come in together--a little late for her, and a little early for him--and Jim spends most of his morning _not_ thinking about the ramifications of such an occurrence and Maggie spends most of _her_ morning teasing him mercilessly.) 

She briefly debates pulling him out of her purse and then just shoulders the bag instead, rapping her knuckles against Mac’s open door. “Ok, so this is kind of unorthodox, but…” 

Mac, to her credit, manages an admirably straight expression in the face of the dozing little puppy. “Where did you…” 

“He was in this box sitting on the subway platform and it’s like thirtysomething outside at best--I couldn’t just leave him there.” Maggie shrugs. “I kind of...yeah.” 

The puppy snuffles in his sleep, shifting enough that his head pokes out of the top of the bag on the floor between them, and Mac sort of... _melts_. 

“No tags? Note?” She smiles down at the little head fondly, a wry twist to her grin. 

“Not that I found.” Maggie crouches, glancing over him again. “I mean you can tell he’s been weaned, he’s pretty decent size but a little underfed obviously--I’m guessing someone’s dog had puppies that they didn’t want and they thought ditching this one on the subway was a good idea.” 

“Mhmm.” Mac smooths her thumb across the soft fur on the crown of his head, scritching her fingers behind his ears when the puppy nuzzles into the motion. “What are you going to do with him?” 

“Well…” 

She sighs. “You’re going to need food.” And then, quieter, “Will’s going to have a field day with this.” 

Maggie is very determinedly _not_ thinking about how Will is going to react to this, because, well--yeah, it’s not going to end well. “And puppy pads, and I really should take him to the vet…” 

“How about we get through today first, and then worry about the rest of that?” 

“Yeah, okay.” She glances around. “Where should I keep him?” 

“Not in here.” Mac mutters, sighing. “Where’s the place Will is going to be the least?” 

“The control room?” 

She winces. “Around all of those wires? No thank you. Maybe if we--hm.” 

“What?” 

“We need Jim. And Neal. And an empty desk drawer.” 

(Which, of course, is how Maggie ends up with a _puppy_ in her desk drawer. 

Thank god she switched desks after Mac promoted her to second senior producer--she faces the door to Will’s office, but her drawers open out into the newsroom.) 

Neal donates a cardigan to the cause--padding for the drawer, so the little guy has something to sleep on--and then spends the hour and a half they have before Will gets in researching what exactly to feed a puppy of indeterminate age. 

After some gentle cajoling from Mac, Jim finds an old hoodie stuffed in the back of his desk to join Neal’s cardigan--grumbling the whole time, naturally--and then gets volunteered to find supplies at the nearest CVS. 

Half an hour before Will gets in, the puppy is pretty much the worst kept secret in the newsroom. 

“I think we should name it Triton.” Tess volunteers, leaning over to coo down at him. 

Jim scoffs. “What sort of a name is _Triton_?” 

“You know, for Atlantis Cable News?” 

“We’re not naming him Triton,”  Maggie mumbles, squinting at a series of images on Google. She adjusts the grip she has, cradling the as-yet unnamed puppy in her lap. “What do we think, does he look more yellow lab, or golden retriever?” 

“Why do you get executive veto powers?” 

“Because Mom said.” 

Mac, feet propped on the edge of the desk, glances up from perusing a sheaf of printouts from Neal on dog obedience training. “She found him, she gets ultimate decision on what his name is.” Twisting her wrist, she frowns at her watch. “Alright, it’s lockdown time, Will’s on his way in.” 

“Aww, man.” 

“Everybody say goodbye for now,” Maggie says cheerfully, lifting the dog down into the nest of hoodies and sweaters in her desk drawer. 

“No secret visits, no one lingering by Maggie’s desk for longer than necessary, and absolutely _no_ telling Will.” Mac proclaims solemnly, waving her hands to facilitate the group’s exodus from the general area of Maggie’s desk. “We clear?” 

“I still think we should name him Triton.” 

* * *

(There are, of course, a few close calls.) 

First, Jim forgets that the bag of dog food is still sitting on his desk--Mac saves that one by loudly distracting Will into discussing news or some other thing in his office. 

Then Martin misses Maggie’s notepad with a balled-up note of name suggestions and nearly hits Will during the pitch meeting (thank God, he’s more focused on his ESPN feed than the meeting, and Maggie manages to sweep the note under the table with her foot). 

The worst one is when Will nearly catches Maggie and Gary on the way back from walking him through Bryant Park--Gary zips him into the front of his track jacket as they duck behind a UPS truck, Mac’s frantic text that Will left the building to get lunch giving them just enough warning--which is about the time that Maggie decides that secret pet ownership is a _very_ stressful endeavour. 

“Would it be easier if we just copped to having him?” She wonders to Sloan ten minutes later in the kitchen, hands shaking as she attempts to pour a cup of coffee. “I mean, how mad could he get?” 

Sloan frowns. “It is _Will_ we’re talking about, though. Don’t you remember last week, when he ranted about leash laws and how people shouldn’t have pets in the city?” 

“I’m pretty sure that was because of that stray dog that ran out in front of his taxi ...or the cat that made him trip into a puddle. It wasn’t a good week. Who doesn’t like dogs, though?” 

The economist considers, nodding. “Oh, but--what if he’s allergic?” 

(Oh God. That _would_ be her luck. 

Somehow, though, the early afternoon passes without Will finding out.) 

Everything is pretty much going swimmingly until Will starts hearing things. 

“Does anyone hear squeaking? I hear something squeaking.” 

Maggie keeps her head down, surreptitiously glancing around the immediate area out of the corner of her eye. Jim’s poker face is _terrible_ , but he’s focused on his computer, and everyone else in the vicinity keeps their heads bent carefully over their work. 

(No one wants to look Will in the eye, obviously, because then they all would cave. 

“He’s like a human lie detector,” Sloan claimed before disappearing upstairs to her office, shaking her head. “I’d flip in ten seconds if he asked me what was up.” 

Well, he is a former prosecutor, Maggie figures.) 

It’s impossible to check her desk with Will standing _right there_ , so she has to tough it out until Will retreats back into his office. As soon as the door shuts, Jim practically vaults up from his desk and half drags Maggie into Mac’s office, speaking before they’re even through the door. “We need to tell Will.” 

“No we don’t!” 

“If you can’t keep it quiet, we won’t _have to_ , he’ll figure it out himself!” 

Mac sighs, puts down the paper she was reading. “What’s wrong? And why does this need to happen in my office?” 

“Will almost heard Mumble!” 

“What the fuck is a ‘Mumble’?” 

Jim flushes, ducking his head. “I couldn’t keep calling it ‘the puppy’ in my head or I was going to _say_ puppy, so I started calling it Mumble.” When they both stare blankly, he waves his hand. “You know, the penguin? From Happy Feet?” 

“How is that even--” 

“That’s not relevant right now,” Mac interrupts, frowning. “He won’t stay quiet?” 

“I think he’s reacting to all the noise.” Maggie shrugs. “Gary and I took him out on a walk like forty minutes ago, so I don’t think he needs to pee or anything.” 

“Did anyone say anything when Will asked?” 

“Er, no.” Jim rocks back on his heels, firming his jaw. “But we need to tell him.” 

“We do not!” 

Mac sighs. “I don’t really want to listen to Will bitch for four hours about the dog, so I really would rather _not_ tell him right now.” 

“He’s going to find out, and then we’ll all be doomed.” 

“That’s a little defeatist, don’t you think?” 

“He _heard_ him! If Mumble isn’t quiet then there’s not even a point in trying to keep him hidden, we might as well post a sign above your desk that says ‘SECRET ANIMAL SHELTER’.” 

“I really think you’re over-dramatizing this a bit,” Mac chides, leaning back in her chair. “We’ve only got to keep the dog hidden for another five hours or so, and then one of the interns can take him to the park during the show.” 

He groans. “But all of this is operating under the assumption that Will’s not going to find Mumble _before_ the broadcast and probably fire us all.” 

“It’s funny how you even remotely think that I’m going to agree to call the dog _Mumble_ ,” Maggie starts, scowling. “And it can’t be _that_ hard to hide him. We can just, um, migrate him around the newsroom, so Will never hears the sound from the same spot?” 

(Yeah, okay, the plan needs work.) 

“Oh yes, what could _possibly_ go wrong?” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, man?” 

“I left it in Afghanistan.” Jim deadpans, folding his arms across his chest. “You know, where I was shot? In the ass?” 

Mac rolls her eyes. “You need a new sob story.” 

“Whatever. Can we get back to how we’re going to handle the furry little situation in Maggie’s desk?” 

Maggie winces. “That actually sounds kind of awful, like my desk is infested with mice or something, let’s not call it that please.” 

“ _Regardless_ , we just need to figure out a working solution for the next five hours. But perhaps not in my office. Since your desk is now unoccupied and probably making noise.” Mac nods at the door. “And please don’t name the poor thing Mumble.” 

Jim sighs, waving her through the door magnanimously. “...We’re so screwed.” 

“Shut it, nerd.” 

* * *

They don’t make it five hours. 

They don’t even make it two. 

Martin drops a stack of binders less than five feet away from her desk and the dog starts barking and _it’s all over, have a nice life, it was great seeing you, I’ll be sitting here watching you leave, news career_. 

“You _idiot_ ,” Maggie snaps, whacking Martin’s hunched over form repeatedly with one of the lighter binders. 

“I didn’t mean to!” The binder’s sound masks the muffled barking issuing from her desk drawer, but Will’s already poking his head out of his office. 

“What the hell’s going on?” 

“I...uh, dropped a binder. On Maggie’s foot.” Martin ducks another hit and then straightens, glancing frantically around for help-- _but there’s no barking_. 

“Right, he um...yeah. Ow. Don’t do that again.” (Oh god she’s such a terrible actor they’re never going to pull this off, shit.) Maggie leans awkwardly on one leg, lifting the other off the ground for effect. “I, um, got mad. Yeah.” 

The look on Will’s face pretty distinctly says _yeah, right, run that one by me again with less bullshit_ , and he steps a bit farther into the newsroom with his hands on his hips. “Yeah, so what’s really going on?” 

And then, in the ensuing blank silence, a thin squeaking howl echoes from Maggie’s desk. 

Will blinks. “...Did your desk just _howl?_ ” 

“I--I can explain.” Most of the staffers in the immediate vicinity scatter like shot, the _traitors_ , and Maggie’s left by herself to face down the McAvoy Inquisition. 

He snorts. “Yeah, because I swear I just heard some kind of animal _howl_ in the newsroom, and that wouldn’t be real, because we don’t run a fucking petting zoo. Right?” 

“Um.” _Time to bite the bullet, Jordan._ “I--see, I found him on the subway platform this morning, and it’s like barely thirty degrees outside--I couldn’t just leave him there--” She’s vaguely aware of Will marching over to investigate himself, and Mac’s suddenly at the door to her office, and some of the staffers are creeping back while Will lifts the puppy out of her desk drawer. “He’s just a little guy, see, I couldn’t leave him alone.” Maggie sucks in a deep breath, letting the last out in a rush of words that end up jumbled together. “AndMacsortofsaidIcouldkeephim.” 

Will scrutinizes the puppy, holding him up in front of his face in both hands with an unreadable look on his face. “What was that last bit?” 

“Mac said I could keep him. Here. Today.” 

Whatever Will’s reply is, the puppy forestalls it by squirming forward in his grip to lick at his face. Will scrunches his face in consternation and shifts his hold around to keep him against his chest. “Maggie…” 

“It’s seriously just for today, I found him on my way in and I had nowhere to put him--” 

“We’ve all been helping out,” Gary ventures nervously, shuffling half a step forward. “Really, until the barking started up you’d have barely noticed he was even here.” 

“I _did_ notice the barking.” Will looks a bit ridiculous lecturing them all about the secret puppy while holding said secret puppy cradled against his chest, but obviously no one is brave enough to verbalize that observation. “So that plan _failed_. And what do you mean, ‘Mac said I could?’” 

“I told her she could keep him, and we all helped out.” Mac pushes off from the doorway to her office, striding over to take the puppy from Will’s hands. “He’s clearly abandoned, and if you would stop being an insufferable grump, you’d realize that he’s hardly hurting anything being here.” 

“We’re not an animal shelter!” 

Mac scoffs. “Please. Like you don’t have a tendency to adopt strays.” 

“I don’t--” 

Behind them, Jim coughs something indistinct into his hand that sounds suspiciously like _Sorority Girl_. 

“The dog stays, end of discussion.” She pushes the puppy back into Will’s hands, setting her own on her hips. “Now can we _please_ get back to work? We have a broadcast in less than four hours!” 

As everyone scatters back to their jobs, Will stands in the middle of the newsroom with a look of harassed bewilderment on his face, hands still reflexively clutched around the dog Mac shoved into his chest. “I…What?” 

And because Maggie is nothing if not pragmatic, she pats him on the elbow and gathers a binder and her notepad from her desk. “Could you keep an eye on him for a bit? I have to finish the pre-interview with one of the guests for the panel.” 

“I’m--” 

“Food’s under Jim’s desk if he gets hungry, his water bowl is hidden under the break room table, and he’ll probably need a walk in the next hour, leash is on Gary’s desk.” She claps his back a few times, smirking. “Thanks, Will!” 

* * *

The puppy finally gets a name during the final rundown (Maggie and Tess used the collective powers of pouting and innocent eyes to scam Will out of his black AmEx long enough to get the dog down to a veterinarian’s clinic after the 4 o’clock rundown, which returned the friendly little golden retriever with a clean bill of health and appointments for his shots), which starts out as a rundown meeting and rapidly dissolves down to a heated argument over what exactly to name him. 

(It’s all Jim’s fault. Naturally.) 

“ _We’re not naming the dog Mumble!_ ” 

“It’s a good name!” 

“It’s a terrible name,” Kendra deadpans, glancing up over her laptop. “Really.” 

“Well you’ve all been rejecting my suggestions,” Jim pouts, slouching back in his chair petulantly. 

“You ran down a list of your favorite superheroes and cartoon characters,” Mac points out, her focus divided between trying to keep the nameless puppy from chewing on the edge of her notes and stopping Will from sneak-feeding him cheese puffs. “Hardly original.” 

“Leonardo’s a great name!” 

“If you’re going to pick a ninja turtle at least pick Donatello,” Neal mutters, ducked over his laptop. “What about Midnight?” 

Maggie gives him an incredulous look. “He’s _golden_.” 

“It’s the most popular dog name that pops up.” 

“What about Rudy?” Will finally succeeds in sneaking a cheese puff under Mac’s elbow and then leaves his hand there, a fond little smile on his face as the dog licks the cheese residue from his fingers. 

Mac elbows his arm away, scowling. “Not everything is Rudy.” 

“We could get him a bowtie collar and call him Charlie,” Tamara volunteers, craning forward across the table to get a better look at him. “He sort of looks like a Charlie.” 

“Charlie would never let us all live it down.” 

“Krugman? Keynes? Friedman?” 

Will twists around to squint at Sloan. “You’re listing famous economists.” 

“Well, yeah. I’d want my pet to be named after an influential and famous economist.” 

Maggie sighs, barely resisting the urge to beat her head against the table. “We’re not naming him after an economist. Or a penguin from a movie. Or any of Jim’s favorite superheroes. Or Charlie."

“I’m going to ask, again, why does _she_ get ultimate veto power?”

“Maggie found the dog, so Maggie gets to decide what his name is.”

“That’s not fair.” 

“Life’s not fair." 

“That’s a dumb answer.”

“You’re a dumb answer.”

Mac sighs, throwing Will an exasperated look of _control your staff, please, why do I always end up doing this_. “Children…" 

Maggie throws a balled up wad of scratched out notes to hit the side of Jim’s face. “I’m gonna name him Kristoff.”

“Stop that!” Jim swats the paper away and then pauses with a confused frown on his face. “Wait, what?”

“What the fuck is a Kristoff?”

Ignoring Will, Mac lifts Kristoff from her lap and scrutinizes him intently. “I think he’s a Kristoff.”

“It totally fits! He’s big--or he will be--and blonde and adorable,” Tess says, excited. “Wait, but does that make you Anna?”

“No, we’re the trolls.”

“Trolls?”

Neal sighs and pivots his laptop around with a video cued up. “Frozen. It’s the new Disney movie. Kristoff is one of the characters.” He shrugs. “He’s best friends with a reindeer and was raised by magical trolls.”

“You want to name the dog after a fictional character that befriends _reindeer_.”

“ _You_ wanted to name him Rudy.”

“I don’t _want_ to do anything, I already did.” She reaches over as Mac passes Kristoff down the table, settling his little body into her lap. “His name is Kristoff, and that’s final.”

Mac clamps a hand over Will’s mouth (and based on the yelp and flinch from Jim, must kick him under the table to silence his protest) and forces a cheerful smile. “Great! Now that we’ve named the dog, can we get back to the news? We _do_ have a broadcast in less than two hours.”

As everyone gets back down to the business of putting the final touches on the broadcast, Tess leans over to Tamara with a loud whisper. “...Wait, so if we’re all the trolls, does that make Will the grandpa troll?”

* * *

**_Epilogue: One Month Later_ **

Kristoff is pretty well settled into the newsroom by the time Maggie accidentally finds Kodak. 

(And of course it’s her luck to find an abandoned kitten on the way back from a super-early Starbucks run, because she’s Maggie Jordan, and this is her life.)

Neal makes a @ _newsnight_pup_ Twitter account on Kristoff’s second day in the newsroom--the picture of Kristoff in a doggie-sized tie perched behind the anchor desk in Will’s chair has nearly two hundred thousand retweets, last they checked--and Leona Lansing actually visits the _News Night_ floor a lot more often now (ostensibly to check up on the show, but absolutely no one is surprised when Kristoff disappears for an hour or so and returns with a bag of designer doggie treats) and even though Will blusters about dog hair all over his office, Kristoff is most often found curled up behind his desk when he’s not by Maggie’s side.

(But back to Kodak. 

As always, the easiest solution is to go to Mac.)

“I have a slight problem,” Maggie says without preamble as soon as she’s through the door, clutching her purse nervously against her chest. 

Kristoff, sprawled out by Mac’s feet, pokes his nose out from under the desk and sniffs the air.

Mac finishes the line she was reading and marks the place with her highlighter cap and then sits back, staring at her. “...Define _problem_.” 

“I, um--” She shuffles in place, and then moves the purse out from in front of her jacket pocket. There’s a tiny mewl, and then a little furry head pokes up over the edge. 

Mac puts her head in her hands. “Maggie…” 

“It was--ok so I know this is kind of becoming a thing, but I couldn’t just leave it, and--” 

“We’re not an animal rescue!” She sighs, and Kristoff whines, dropping his head on top of Mac’s foot. “...Present company excepted, of course.”

Maggie bites her lip. “Wasn’t Sloan talking about adopting a kitten?”

* * *

 

_**@newsnight_pup** :_

_@ACN_willmcavoy What do you mean, this isn't the right tie? #anchordog_

__

 

_Meet the newest member of the #NewsNight family, Kodak the kitten! @sloansabbith_

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~~Also: double bonus points to whoever figures out the reference behind Kodak the kitten's name.~~


End file.
